


You Can Cry

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: 6x06 Recall Vote, Angst, Comfort, Dom!Leslie, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: He wants to ask if she's okay, if there's anything he can do, but he doesn't. Because he knows it's not okay. He knows he can't undo her recall, as much as he'd like to stand in front of all of Pawnee and curse them for getting rid of the best thing to ever happen to them.They don't even know what they just lost. Ben can't fix that for her— and that fucking kills him.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	You Can Cry

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially just Recall Vote smut with some added hurt/comfort. It is what it is.

The words of Perd Hapley echo through their minds, haunting them.

_ These are three phrases you won't hear tonight, as Leslie Knope has been voted out of office. _

Leslie stares. “What did he say?”

_ Pawnee voters have decisively removed Leslie Knope from City Council. _

Ben goes to her, his hands on her shoulders to keep her steady, but he is shaking too. “Honey, I am so sorry…”

Jerry comes in with pizza and everyone is miserable, staring around the room, unsure of what to say. Ben holds Leslie as she's frozen in place and all anyone can do is sneak glances at her, open-mouthed, nobody sure what to say but wanting to make sure she's okay. She's not moving, stone cold under his touch, and he's never seen her so speechless.

“Honey?” Ben whispers to her when the silence grows too unbearable, and it's the snap into reality that Leslie needs.

She pulls herself from Ben, from everyone, and walks out the door. She doesn't even run, or cry, or make a sound. She seems calm as ever as she turns on her heel and leaves the Parks department, not taking another look back.

Ben gapes at the rest of them.

“You take care of her, son,” Ron tells him, and it's all the permission Ben needs. He waves a hand in farewell and runs after his wife, finding her already in the car, staring at her hands.

They don't talk on the drive home. Her voice doesn't seem to work. And as soon as they enter their bedroom and close the door behind them, she breaks, and she collapses onto their bed, overcome with sobs.

“Oh god, Leslie—”

He reaches for her, leaping onto the bed and pulling her into his arms. She doesn't fight it, just leans into him, presses her forehead to his chest, and sobs into his shirt. She's shaking and inconsolable and all Ben can do is rub her back, run his fingers through her hair, and whisper  _ shhh  _ into her ear, like he always does when he needs to soothe her.

And he wants to ask if she's okay, if there's anything he can do, but he doesn't. Because he knows it's not okay. He knows he can't fix this, as much as he'd like to stand in front of all of Pawnee and curse them for getting rid of the best thing to ever happen to them. They don't even know what they just lost, and Ben can't undo that. 

This election, this seat on City Council— it nearly cost them their entire relationship. It meant that much to her, and now it's all been taken away from her. As if it was all for nothing. Every bit of suffering, just to lead to this.

And Ben can't fix that, and it fucking kills him.

So he holds her, because it's all he can do, pressing kisses to her hair as her fists curl into his shirt, and he feels so, so useless. She doesn't speak through her sobbing and he's pretty sure this is the longest she's ever been without words, which scares him, and for a moment he kind of hates Pawnee, in the same way that he hates bees and litter in the park and anything else that makes Leslie cry.

It's over an hour by the time her sobs start to die down, but her cheeks are red and her makeup is smudged around her eyes and she's clearly not okay yet. But still, she moves enough to lift her head from his chest and reposition herself so that she's straddling him, his arms automatically sliding around her waist.

“Hey, you,” he whispers, and she gives a weak smile in return.

She doesn't respond with words. Her hands cup his face and trace his jaw and then she's pulling him in to kiss her, long and slow, filled with every bit of emotion she has in her. And he knows her well enough by now that he knows how she feels with this exchange alone, that they don't even need words, they're communicated just with their kisses and their hands.

Just as quickly, something switches inside Leslie, and she's pulling Ben closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and parting her lips to welcome his tongue with a kind of hunger she can't quite control. And he follows her lead, his hands pressing on her back, but he's gentle. Too gentle. 

Ben breaks the kiss, one of his hands coming up so his fingers can brush the side of her face, tuck the hair behind her ear. “Leslie?”

“I need you,” she rasps, the first words she's spoken in hours. “Now.”

He wants to indulge her, more than anything he does. He can already feel his dick straining against the fabric of his pants, but one look at her tear stained face makes him pause, wondering if she's just doing this for his sake. “I— are you sure?” he asks her. “If you don't want to—”

Her nails dig into his shoulders, and he winces. “I want to,” she says, her jaw set, something slightly familiar in her eyes. “You don't understand. I really need to be in control of something right now, Ben.”

But how would she get control from—?

_ Oh.  _

Ben understands. It hits him suddenly enough that he has a very physical reaction to it, and he knows she can feel his erection against her thigh. He inhales very quickly, almost choking on his words, before nodding. “I— yes. I'd like that. A lot.”

She wastes no time, pushing at his shoulders so he falls back against the bed. “Hands on your head,” she instructs him. “Don't move them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he breathes, interlocking his fingers on top of his head as instructed. And it should be an easy order to follow, except that she's currently trailing down his body and tearing his belt from its loops, and he just really wants to touch her. She tugs his pants down and throws them to the side, and as she works on his boxers, he aches to run his hand through her hair, grab a fistful, and pull her into him.

But he refrains. He refrains, because he's seen her like this before, when she takes control during sex. And just like she does all things in life, she puts her whole heart into it, and she doesn't take the task lightly. It's evident, really, in the way she wastes no time and traces his cock with her tongue, sending shivers through his body that really, only she can cause.

“Stay still,” she tells him, before fully taking him into her mouth, her nails digging into his thighs. She's quick, and she's unrelenting, and Ben has to grab and pull violently at his own hair to stop himself from reaching for her, to stop from sitting up, and it's a near impossible task as she works on him. And he feels almost completely done for when she sinks herself completely down and he can feel himself in the back of her throat— and her eyes flicker upwards to meet his.

_ “Fuck, Leslie,”  _ he hisses, his arm jerking, and she's off of him in an instant, grabbing his wrist and pushing it back down into the mattress.

“I said not to move,” she tells him. “So why did you?”

He chokes, the words lost in his throat. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, but even still he's aching to tear her clothes off— she's wearing entirely too much.

“I didn't ask for an apology, I asked  _ why  _ you moved.”

Ben swallows hard. “I wanted to touch you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” He looks her up and down as she hovers over him, biting down on his bottom lip. “I wanted to take your clothes off.”

It's probably the wrong thing to say, because it gives Leslie too much to work with. She knows it, too, because suddenly, for the first time tonight, she's starting to smirk through her still tear-stained cheeks, as if she's getting some of her old fire back. He's so excited by this that he doesn't even realize what her plan is until she's unbuttoning his shirt and reaching for one of his ties.

“Hands up, to the headboard,” she tells him, and he groans as she ties his hands with his own tie, tight enough to the bed frame that, though he could get out if he really wanted to, he knows it's not worth the hassle. “And stay still, Wyatt. Eyes on me.”

She pulls herself up his body so she's straddling his bare torso instead, close enough to him that he couldn't look away if he tried. She watches him, looks him right in the eyes as she starts to slowly unbutton her shirt, slipping it from her shoulders. He groans at the teasing, lightly tugs at the restraints on his wrists—  _ because he really, really just wants to touch her. _

Her own hands slide down her bare skin as she works on the button of her pants, getting rid of those too, until the feel of her bare thighs on his torso is almost too much to handle. Ben aches to jump up, to rip her bra from her, push her into the mattress and shove himself inside her, but he doesn't, can't. It's not his turn to be in control. But  _ fuck,  _ if she isn't mean when it's her turn.

Leslie plays around with him, watching as his eyes bulge when she fiddles with her bra strap, letting it slide off her shoulders. It's way too long before her hands slip to her back and her bra, too, disappears, and now Ben really doesn't like this game.

“Leslie, please—”

_ “Shut up,”  _ she hisses, cupping her own breasts, her thumb rolling over her nipple. And it's a testament to how truly weak Ben is when he moans,  _ actually moans,  _ just at the sight of her fingers pinching her nipple, and he just can't take this anymore. “I need you to do something for me.”

_ “Anything,”  _ he gasps.

“I'm going to untie you. But don't get too excited, because you don't get to touch me— not yet. Not until I say so. Do you understand?”

“Fuck, Les—”

_ “Do you understand?” _

_ “Yes,”  _ he mumbles. “Yes, just— please. I need you. Anything.”

And then it's a flurry of activity, because clearly Leslie doesn't want to be slow anymore. She removes her own underwear and then rips away Ben’s restraints, making do instead by intertwining both his hands with hers. She holds his hands tightly, pushing them into the mattress above his head, and he wants to complain until he realizes what she's doing— now, instead of his torso, she's straddling his face.

With no clothes on.

Ben moans, and so desperately wants to reach out and grab her hips and pull her down on top of him, but the tight grip she has on his hands shoots that idea down. She lowers herself down, riding his face, and Ben swears he's never been happier to be underneath her, wasting no time in shoving his tongue inside her. His moan is muffled between her legs, tracing her with his tongue, circling her clit, not satisfied until he hears her groan above him, long and drawn out, knowing that it's because of  _ him  _ that she's made that noise in the first place.

Would eating her out be easier to do with both his hands as well? Absolutely, but he makes do with what he has. She's wet and aching for him and grinding against his face, her legs starting to shake on either side of him, her composure slipping.  _ “Ben,”  _ she gasps, almost toppling completely over, and she releases one of his hands to grab a fistful of his hair instead, looking down at him as he circles her clit. “Ben, Ben, make me cum.”

It's an order, he knows that. And he knows she's close enough to it that he can get away with a  _ little  _ more than he could before. She lets go of both his hands now to grip his hair, writhing above him, and finally,  _ finally,  _ he gets to touch her, wrapping one arm around her hips to pull her further downwards, his other hand snaking between them to press his thumb to her clit with tiny and quick circles, and that's when she finally goes over the edge.

She's screaming above him, arching her back, and he watches her, watches her as she rises and falls, the way her eyes squeeze shut and her cheeks get flushed and her mouth flies open, and all he can think is that she's beautiful. She cums in a wave against his face and then she's falling over from the force of it, and he grips her, fingers digging into her waist, holding her tight.

“Fuck me,” she commands. “Touch me, fuck me, whatever, anything.”

He sits up and helps to position her back into his lap, the two of them moaning together as she sinks down on top of him. He fills her up and she gasps, her head falling to his shoulder, and it's far too long before he realizes she's drifting away again.

Leslie writhes on top of him as he empties himself inside her, and for a moment, neither of them move. All the life has left her body and for a moment, he assumes it from the sex, that she's just tired, but when she pulls her face from his shoulder and her eyes are red with tears again, he understands immediately.

They're both hot and sweaty but he holds her anyway, like he always does, skin on skin. His fingers trace down her spine and wipe away her tears and for a second, they just sit there like that, their foreheads pressed together, their breathing still heavy enough that their chests rise and fall in sync.

“Ben,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I'm scared.”

He doesn't need to ask what she means by that, because he understands. Getting recalled by the town she loves… her future is bound to look uncertain in her eyes. But holding her in his arms, his  _ wife,  _ as she looks so small, smaller than she's ever looked in public, he knows she’ll get through this. She always does. He just needs to remind her of all the things she still has, all the people that care about her.

“I love you,” he tells her, looking her right in her tear-filled eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“And it's okay to be scared. You can cry.” Because she tries too hard to be strong all the time, to push everything down and try to be okay, while only Ben gets to see her when she's slipping into something darker. “You can cry.”

So she does. She cries in his arms, in the bathroom, and as they slip into their pajamas. She cries as he covers her in blankets and curls into her side and kisses her goodnight, and she tries to sob quietly all through the night when she thinks he's asleep, and his fingers absentmindedly trace shapes against her skin.

She sobs into her voicemail that anyone is sure to get when they call her, and Ben briefly considers this a good thing, because she's not trying to hide her hurt anymore. She's openly accepted that she's not okay right now, and it should be a step in the right direction.

But when Ben wakes up and gets dressed for work in the morning, for once she's still asleep. He watches her as he buttons his shirt and he says this is okay, too, because she's getting good sleep in, because she was up too late last night sobbing and furiously writing a short, two-line speech for her recall.

It's okay. She’ll be okay.

But she comes to work in pajamas and insists on eating a burger for breakfast and Ben can't pretend anymore that this is okay, because he doesn't even recognize his own wife. He looks into her eyes and he doesn't even see her, and it scares him, and he wants to shake her and curse Pawnee and scream,  _ just scream. _

Her eyes aren't bright anymore. They're just dead.


End file.
